¦Hurricane season has always been a source of anxiety in New Orleans, but it hasn't always made us so angry. I can remember a time, not long ago, when there was a distinct camaraderie that went along with the nail-biting, an almost jovial good sportsmanship associated with that universal fear of the so-called Big One. We were only guessing then, and the guessing felt like a game.

Now it's different. We've all seen how a big storm can play out for ourselves, up close and personal. There's not a whole lot left to guess about.

Of all the changes we've faced since Katrina, perhaps the most dramatic has been in our collective state of mind. Remember when a storm had to inch its way so far up the radar screen that it was breathing down our necks before we even got the tiniest bit antsy about it? That was really not a bad way to go.

Nowadays, we shift into mental meltdown mode as soon as the tiniest swirling bit of goo forms off the coast of Africa. It's really ridiculous how we all watch these grainy electronic abstractions like hawks, as if such an obsession could possibly do any good.

The truth is simple enough. All we really need to do is decide whether we'll be staying or going, and how we'll act out that decision if and when it's time to go. I know it's very difficult to be methodical and rational about this, considering all that's happened. But if we're going to keep living here, we've got to start integrating these possibilities into our psyche in a smoother fashion and stop taking out our frustrations on each other. And we have to do this even when we're feeling the heat and the fear and the anger of bad memories far too recent to dismiss gracefully or easily or, really, at all.

Let's make a summertime resolution to get a grip. Really, we all have to learn to just kick it like we used to.

Do like this: Put together your little riding-it-out-like-a-crazy-person survival kit, or your getting-the-heck-out-of-dodge-like-a-sane-person escape kit, then tuck it away for that rainiest of days and forget about it till you need it.

Fire up the barbecue or boil up the crawfish, reacquaint yourself with your neighbors and try to remember that we're all in the same leaky boat -- and that the day may come when that cranky neighbor whose name you keep forgetting might turn out to be your best friend on earth.

Brush up on your hurricane humor. Remember how we used to crack each other up before a big storm, making light of a bad situation? That was healthy. As long as we're prepared to deal with it realistically, it is very healthy to laugh.

We've come a long way down this rough road of making things right again, and the government promise-breakers -- be they city, state or federal -- have had very little to do with that. This city has been regenerated one roof at a time. It's you who have accomplished this. And your neighbor. So treat each other right.

If we've learned anything from the past it's that, at the end of the day, we can truly depend only on each other. So take a deep breath and love thy neighbor like it's an idea that really means something -- because if we don't know the truth of that by now then we surely never will.

Experience is a tricky thing. I once knew a guy who'd played the trombone for 20 years but just never got any good at it. I asked a friend, "Has this dude really been playing 20 years?" The answer was, "Well, it's more like he's been playing for one year, but 20 times."

Let's not allow the benefit of our experience to be erased every year, only to start from scratch with tempers flaring against whoever or whatever is handy.

Let's build on what we've learned, every year and every day, let's toughen our skins and sharpen our wits -- but also let's soften our hearts towards each other. Because if we don't reach out to our neighbors, if we aren't prepared to help and be helped by each other, then we'll just wind up herded in another sports arena, waiting for another Godot who will not come till it's too late, another demoralizing spectacle of pity and ridicule for the world to gawk at -- and that, my friends, is not us. And it never has been.

So here we are again, about to run through one of those mind-numbing psychological gauntlets, another Orleans Parish pressure cooker, and make no mistake; stand or fall, it's all on us. And just like always, we'll either rise to the challenge or be diminished with the tide. We really can't do both.

Louis Maistros is the author of the New Orleans novel, "The Sound of Building Coffins." He can be reached at louismaistros.com.